Talismans
by Opal Eyed
Summary: A sweet oneshot in response to Rhinozilla's question of things Daryl and Carol would give each other. Caryl-centric, a little language.


{Daryl}

At first, he thought it was the Virgin Mary. On closer inspection, he found that the reverse side of the quarter-sized pewter amulet was inscribed with a name, "Sophia, " and a brief explanation of the Greek personification of wisdom. He raised his dark eyebrows in astonishment at what a find he had scored, bounced it in his hand, closed his fist over it, and dropped it in the left-breast pocket of his vest.

Then he finished clearing the little New Age shop, stocking up on candles, soaps, essential oils, and anything else that might be of use. As usual, he set aside certain items specifically, in a separate container.

Once he, Sasha, and Michonne had returned to their prison-turned-commune home, and unloaded the vehicle, they each packed a box for his or her share, and he carried his two boxes back to his cell. First, he unpacked one and put away his things, then carried the second to the door to the left. To Carol's cell. He skritched at the faded floral sheet that hung over her doorway, and when there was no response, he peeked inside and realized she wasn't there. A small sigh escaped his lips, then a thought crossed his mind, and his eyes took on an impish glint. He set the box on her bed, then got to work.

{Carol}

By nightfall, with all the dishes and laundry done, all bellies long since filled to satisfaction, and many of her cohabitants already alseep in their various beds, Carol trudged to her cell for the first time since she'd risen and dressed before the sun came up. She sat down on her bunk with a hard flop, and her hand scraped audibly on stiff cardboard. She looked to the left, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and found a smallish box, filled to the brim and heavy. Carol lit a tiny candle on her bedside table by which to see, then dragged the container into her lap.

Therein, she found scented candles (chocolate silk, vanilla chai spice, and one called 'Relax'); a few bars of earthy, rustic handmade soaps (mint-walnut, patchouli, lavender and honey); a bottle of eucalyptus essential oil; and a few other more practical items. With a tired smile, she thought of the one who she knew had left them there for her. Her best friend had taken to bringing her a share of the spoils from his supply runs, ever since they'd had a heated argument about her waiting until the entire prison's inhabitants had gone through whatever he and the others brought back from the outside world, before finally taking a bit of whatever was left, for herself.

_["You earn your keep, hell, you work enough to earn keep for three or four people, yet you never let us give you what you deserve." He had been rife with outrage when he'd learned from Glenn what she'd been doing every time. "I think you forget you're a person, too." He'd said, a little softer then. _

_Not meeting his rich blue eyes, she'd looked at the floor, one arm across her chest, and her shoulders slumped in reflexive submission. _

"_I just want to be sure everyone has what they need." She had barely spoken above a whisper. Much as she had grown stronger and risen above the mewling slave-woman she'd been before her husband's well-deserved death, it was still automatic and involuntary for her to roll over and show her belly to whoever was asserting himself as the 'big dog', at that point._

_Daryl had quickly taken in her posture and assessed what he had done to her by flying off the handle. He'd felt like a low-down bastard, then. So, he'd pulled up a nearby chair and sat right in front of where she stood, knees to knees, had taken her small hand in his larger one, and spoken as gently as he could, as if to a wounded and frightened animal._

"_I'm sorry I yelled. Shouldn'ta done that. Just...from now on, promise me you'll remember to take care of yourself, too." Carol's shoulders had relaxed then, and she'd met his upturned gaze._

"_Okay, " she'd said with a nod, then he'd released her hand.]_

Presently, after sniffing each small luxury from the box, she put the items away and placed the box beside the small trash can by her night table. She then set about easing her very tired feet out of her formidable looking boots, unclasping and removing her ratty old bra, and climbing into the small bed. When her head hit the billow, she felt something small and hard inside it. Had one of the kids put a rock there as a prank? She rolled onto her stomach, reached inside the pillowcase, and felt around. What she discovered was a necklace. A heavy circle of pewter strung on a black cord. She lit the candle again, having blown it out before laying her head down, and squinted at the object. On one side, an image of a woman with a shawl over her hair, looking pensively off to the left, was wreathed in a halo-like burst of light. She flipped it over, and read the inscription.

"**Sophia, **goddess and personification of wisdom, the great teacher, " it read. Her throat tightened and before she knew it a few tears had dripped down her cheeks. She flipped the disc again so she could look at the little face, and kissed it lovingly, before dropping the cord over her neck, so the pendant could reside near her heart. She again snuffed the stub of candle, then fell asleep with a sad smile.

The next morning, she brought Daryl his breakfast of grits with meat, to where he was stationed, crossbow at his side, on a rooftop. As he took the bowl from her, he looked up at her from his folding chair, and she put her hand on the pendant.

"Thank you, Daryl, for this. And for the soaps and things." She patted his left hand, where it sat on his knee.

He grunted, "Just making sure you're taken care of. Don't ya give none of it away." She shook her head. Then, "The eucalyptus- put it on your pulse points. S'posed to make you feel refreshed. You run yourself ragged, all the time. Should be a little pick-me-up." He resumed eating his meal.

At this, Carol smiled. He didn't know it, but spending time with him was a pick-me-up all on its own. She had a sudden spark of something, halfway between smart-ass and flirtatiousness.

"You keep spoiling me like this and I might start thinking you're sweet on me." She winked, and his jaw dropped. Before he could respond, though, she said she had to go put the job charts together for the day, turned, and he noticed, sauntered off with a little wiggle of her butt.

Later, as she tidied the library after 'story time', her eyes fell on a title on a shelf in the non-fiction section. "Names and their Meanings." She had a thought, and pulled it off the shelf, flipping to the page she was hoping to find. Spotting the sought after name, she tapped the page with a grin.

The next day, she made salt dough for art class, reserving about an ounce for herself.

{Daryl}

The few times he had talked with Carol that day, he'd carefully, stealthily drunk in her scent, noting she'd used the mint soap he'd brought her. It smelled delicious muddled with her own natural scent. He was glad he'd grabbed a bar of it for himself as well, because now he could smell 'her' whenever he wanted.

He didn't know what to do with that flirtatious streak she'd picked up. He figured she was probably just teasing him, but it did things to him. He felt fifteen again, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pretty girl he had a crush on, in the hallway. He both blamed and blessed the warm weather for drawing her slender figure and creamy skin out from under her wintertime sweater cocoon.

Having had watch duty before dawn, after lunch he decided to take a nap in his bunk, so his aim wouldn't be off from exhaustion, if needed later in the day.

Settling on his back, he looked up at the underside of the bunk above him, and was surprised to see a small clay bird, dyed or painted black, and dangling by a bit of jute. There was a piece of paper tucked between the metal slat and the mattress, as well.

Bird in hand, he unfolded the piece of book page and read the circled passage.

"Merle- (English) Black bird."

The paper smelled faintly of mint. Again he looked at the little ink black sculpture in his calloused hand. He closed his eyes and thought of the man who had once been his hero and idol, before the world got too hard and he disappeared into a life of addiction and petty crime. Coughing to clear his constricted throat, he gently placed the bird and paper on the stool by his bed, then lay on his pillow, and slept.


End file.
